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Natural Causes

"This," said the constable, semi-rueful,
"this is where we found her." Pause;
exhale; resume, pink face unruffled.
"She died, it seems, of natural causes."

The kitchen did not disagree. A
drawer of unsheathed blades said nothing,
and chunky oven dials can't sneer.
"I see," said the inspector, coughing.

Bright, a tap's neck arched curiously
to where she kissed her dead reflection.
Dry alibis, tea, rice and muesli,
stared ahead with no reaction.

It was quite quiet. The fridge, concerned,
hummed softly. Blank and milky light
spilled chilly outwards to discern
the cold, unpackaged piece of meat.

If anyone in that small room cared
that she had passed away forever,
it must have been the straight-backed chairs:
erect and alert, still waiting for dinner.

His slow mind pondering aimless Death
(inside that kitchen such a foreigner)
the inspector saw a knife wink deft.
"You never know. I'll call the coroner."